La Mort
by cto10121
Summary: She is silent. She is pitiless. She is merciless. And she is determined to claim Romeo and Juliet as promised to her by Fate. Elle est la Mort. She is Death.


_**A/N: This idea was born of watching **__**Roméo et Juliette**__** by Gérard Presgurvic one too many times and also what would have happened if Shakespeare had decided to personify the abstract idea of death. Basically, what you are about to read. Enjoy. :D **_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own **__**Romeo and Juliet**__** nor the French musical (**__**Roméo et **__**Juliette**__**) from which this was inspired. They belong to William Shakespeare and Gérard Presgurvic accordingly. *tears***_

__

**

* * *

**

**La Mort**

So close. So frustrating. The lady in white felt, apart from her usual emptiness, a flash, brief notion of impatience. This was not very common – the lady in white had the greatest patience in the entire world, for indeed she was not of the world. She was, in fact, part of it.

Daintily, she circled the tomb where the supposed corpse laid, still and pale. She was not dead; no one could fake death. But she would be, soon. The lady in white was sure of that. Patience, patience, patience. All in due time. A ballerina's gait, tiptoe and graceful, circling the girl like the earth revolves around the sun. Perhaps the boy was right – Juliet _was _the sun. If the lady in white could feel such a human emotion as humor, she would have felt it then.

So still, so pale, so bloodless, so beautiful. Only the fluttering of a faint pulse, barely perceptible, could be felt. The lady in white could almost believe that she had indeed taken the girl, though of course she didn't, not yet. But she'd get her in time. First, though, the boy.

A loud _clang_ – the tomb is opened. The lady in white suddenly ceased her revolution and looked at the entrance of the Capulet vault. She could sense the weakening life threat. Another victim. A flash of satisfaction and excitement passed in her emotionless, passive eyes. With a turn, her long, silk white dress billowing impressively, she disappeared as silently as she had first appeared.

She saw the two men right outside the vault. One was older than the other, though still quite young, looking furiously at the youth. The boy – Romeo – was standing passively, his shoulders slumped, his expression emotionless. He appeared to be already dead except for the glimmer of madness, frenzied and wild. He talked to the other man in a tone that made the lady in white, usually so calm and impassive, tremble in delight and arousal. He belonged to her, and only her, even before the deed was done. The lady in white was positively delighted at this, but still hovered close to him, just in case something went wrong. A possessive, jealous feeling, more intense than what she usually felt, swept over her. _Mine_. _One, the other, both. Mine. _

The older man – Paris – started to shout furiously at him. Romeo's bloodshot, crazed eyes flashed dangerously and, in a gesture of raw anger, drew his sword. Steel on steel clashed, and the lady in white twirled elegantly around the two men, her unfathomable black eyes fixed on them – a pure white hawk. Then the fatal thrust, and steel went in flesh. Blood was drawn. A cry of pain. _Paris it is, then. _

The lady in white was ready. She swooped in on him, wrapping him in her silky-clad arms. Paris managed to rasp out one desperate, last request before his life ended. A surge of…not exactly happiness but a deep, internal satisfaction swept through her.

Romeo, curiously, showed no satisfaction or joy at his deed. His eyes showed both sadness and sympathy rolled into one indescribable emotion as he looked at the corpse's face. He then dragged the corpse over into the tomb, fulfilling his death wish accordingly. The lady in white relinquished Paris gracefully – the body she had no need of. She had what she'd wanted. Now all that was left was the other.

Romeo approached the sleeping girl slowly until he stood over her, at her side. His eyes, once hysterical and wild were now serene and full of pure, undiluted adoration and love for the ethereal creature before him. He smiled, and the smile was genuine and full of the most acute happiness and the most poignant melancholy.

The lady in white breathed in the emotions like air; she stepped over Paris's corpse, not sparing him a second thought, behind Romeo. She heard his soft words to her and heard the irony in those words. He grasped Juliet's cold hand; he caressed her cheek; he pleaded forgiveness from Tybalt. A final look, a final touch, and then a final, fatal kiss.

The lady in white seldom ever smiled, but in that moment she did. Her countenance was no longer blank, but bore an expression of animalistic hunger. The black pools that were her eyes shone with avarice. _So close now…_

Romeo took out the vial. The lady in white was right up against Romeo's lean body. _Yes. _He whispered a toast to his love. The lady in white embraced Romeo just as he drank the poison. He let out a rasping gasp, blanching, his whole body convulsing.

"_The drugs are quick_," he whispered hoarsely, painstakingly. With great effort, he managed to kiss Juliet's cold lips one last time. "_Thus, with a kiss…I die." _

Swifter than a hawk swooping down on its prey, the lady in white brought her lips to Romeo's, and they touched for a brief millisecond. The lady in white let him go; his body slumped, insensible, on Juliet's. He was dead.

Her eyes flashed in triumph. Her expression was brilliant and alight. Romeo was finally hers. And oh, such supple flesh, such raw youth…it was invigorating. Now, all that was left was Juliet. She positioned herself so that she was leaning over Juliet's head. She waited.

The friar came before she woke, his face as pale as the lady in white. He gasped, seeing the two bodies, one seeping in his own blood. The lady in white looked coldly at him, leaning over Juliet possessively, boring a hole in his skull. The friar shivered, sensing the chill in the air.

Juliet began to stir, then awoke, her movements sluggish. The friar rushed to her side. She sat up lethargically, murmuring Romeo's name. There was some noise from outside. The friar talked fast, telling Juliet to leave, to go. His fear was heavy and palpable. He grabbed her arm, but Juliet paid him no heed. She was staring, dumbstruck, at Romeo, dead, on her breast. The lady in white silently rejoiced. _Yes! She was hers. _

Juliet didn't budge an inch. The friar, then overcome by fear, went away. The lady in white dismissed him; her undivided attention was now on Juliet, who seemed to have come out of her shock. She took up the vial still enclosed in Romeo's loose fist calmly, almost thoughtfully. She lifted the vial to her lips. The lady in white made no move, watching calmly as frustration gripped Juliet, discarding the empty vial impatiently. Her eyes lit up – she kissed Romeo's lips. The lady in white shook her head. A note of barely restrained panic bubbled up in Juliet's dismayed monologue.

There was more noise, and shouts and voices. The lady in white knew now was the time to act. Leaning forward, she took Romeo's dagger with her pale little hand and put it in Juliet's hand. Juliet blinked at the sudden appearance of the dagger, but that was the only indication she gave at the fact that the dagger had suddenly appeared in her hand. Her vague surprise turned into triumphant joy.

"_O, happy dagger!" _Juliet exclaimed. She caressed the smooth, silver blade lovingly before firmly grasping the base, lifting it up above her. "_This is thy sheath, there rust; and let me die._"

And she plunged the dagger into her heart. The lady in white smoothly wrapped her arms around Juliet and, like she did with Romeo, kissed her lips as would a lover might. She fell forward on Romeo, as dead as he was; Death had claimed another victim.

Death let go of Juliet and slowly stepped away. She was glowing, a bright white aura encompassing her body. The flow of energy she felt was thrilling, invigorating. There was no regret in making that bargain with Fate. What had been ordained had indeed come to past.

And so immortal Death – her present form completely engulfed in the terrible white aura – raised her arms up to the sky before spreading them gracefully. Her magnificent head arched until she looked past the ceiling and into the cold, forbidding night. Then the white aura vanished and along with it Death; the consummate predator of flesh and life, sought out its next victim, and became one with the twinkling stars.

* * *

_**A/N: Again, this isn't my original idea, but one used in **__**Roméo et Juliette: de La Haine À l'Amour**__**, the French musical, with music and lyrics by Gérard Presgurvic. In the original French production, the character known as "Death" (represented by a lady dressed all in white, and very creepy besides) kills Romeo with a kiss, and gives Juliet the dagger in the end. The idea intrigued me and so this was born. **_

_**Your thoughts? **_


End file.
